


Of Longing and Heartache and Lust

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Series: A Summer in Cintra [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: And introducing Hound!, F/M, Mutual Pining, apparently Cal is lowkey a horse girl?, just soft introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23875453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: With Eist coming home soon, Calanthe returns to her swimming lessons, taking time to reflect on what they've brought to her life.
Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach
Series: A Summer in Cintra [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658368
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Of Longing and Heartache and Lust

She’s being foolish, she knows. Reckless.

It doesn’t stop her in the least.

Calanthe holds her cloak's hood in place as her horse trots around the curve of Cintra’s outermost walls—it’s late, far too late for most people to be out, but an overabundance of caution has always been her saving grace.

Well, an overabundance of caution in all matters except those surrounding her husband, she inwardly corrects.

Not that she wasn’t achingly overcautious for ages, before they were finally wed. She feels her recklessness regarding him is earned. A bit overdue, truth be told.

Now that they’re on the southern side of the city, she guides her horse’s reins away from the wall, straight out to the fields stretching towards the river. She makes a clicking noise with her tongue, thighs tightening and urging Hound into a canter.

Yes, _Hound_. Odd name for a horse, most people think. It’s part of an inside joke, between her and Eist.

Hound, after her favorite soubriquet for her husband: _my dear hound_.

She has a habit of not naming her horses until she knows them better, usually choosing figures from Cintran history whom their personalities most resemble, to Eist’s unending amusement. Then again, as a child of the sea, he hadn’t grown up with the same connection to his steeds as Calanthe had. As a continental ruler—particularly the ruler of a country renowned for their hearty battle destriers and light-footed long-distance coursers—it had always been important to develop a rapport with her horses. They had to truly trust her, to let her ride them into battle or other potential dangers. She had to be able to control them, with utmost precision.

It had taken her a week to name this one. He is intelligent and quick, with a bit of an attitude, but still more obedient than some of her other horses. Normally, she only chooses whites or dappled greys—easier to see when they were wounded, truth be told. But Hound is a blue roan, darker points on his legs and face and an overall salt-and-pepper look that reminded her of Eist’s scruffy little beard that he often grows out in the winter.

Granted, that hadn’t been her reason for naming him. He was a palfrey, lighter and quicker, not built for battle—and as such, he had a beautifully smooth gait.

 _He’s my favorite to ride_ , she’d explained, offering a dashing grin and a knowing wink _. Much like another hound I know._

Eist’s face had gone red at the joke. He’d wheezed, shoulders silently shaking as he laughed so hard that he couldn’t even breathe. Even now, she grins at the memory. It was a silly, stupid thing. Yet it brought her such joy, watching his reaction.

Hound is currently tugging at the bit, eager to bolt across the field. She hasn’t taken him out on a ride in over two weeks—first, there was the round trip to Metinna, during which she’d ridden Chira, her best courser, followed by another solid week of letting her poor thighs recover from being near-shredded from saddle burn.

But she’s better now, and she has work to do.

Eist is coming home, in just a few days. Her heart races at the thought. She eases up on the reins, giving Hound his head and letting him charge ahead, the pounding of his hooves keeping time with the blood pumping through her chest, wild and delighted.

Her hood blows back, the tie of her cape tugging against her windpipe as the rest of the fabric billows out behind her, but she doesn’t mind. She’s far enough away now, practically alone at this point.

She shouldn’t be going to the river alone. She knows. Just traveling out here, with nothing more than her short sword for defense is dangerous enough. And then to get into the river by herself, where no one will be able to aid her, if some accident were to befall her? Madness. Absolute recklessness.

Even as she acknowledges her foolishness, she continues on with it.

Eist is coming home soon. They’ve already made plans—on his first night back, they’ll come down to the river, this place that has somehow become their private oasis from the rest of their lives, where they can be their truest selves with each other.

She wants to surprise him. To show off her skills, to make his brows lift in slight shock, to make his eyes gleam in admiration.

It’s partially his fault, she decides. He’s so adorable, whenever he’s surprised. Can she really be blamed for wanting to recreate that reaction, again and again?

Her logic says yes. Her heart says no. Her heart is the stronger opponent in this war, always has been when it concerns him.

She slowly pulls Hound back into a trot as they approach the copse of trees near the river’s bank. Once she’s dismounted, she takes the reins and gingerly leads him further down the bank, finding a less steep section that they can both navigate, bringing him right to the river’s edge.

She removes her clothing, tying it down to her saddle.

She could swim with some layers on, she knows, but she’s come to enjoy the sensation of swimming naked. Though it’s far more enjoyable with Eist, equally bare, beside her.

Soon, she reminds herself. Then she removes Hound’s bridle, hooking it back over the saddle horn.

He nickers softly, butting his head about in excitement. He understands what this means—he’ll be allowed to roam free for a while, until she calls him back to her with a distinct, sharp whistle. All of her horses have been trained like this.

Again, it’s something Eist has teased her over. Because her reasoning is unbearably soft, in his view. She likes letting her mounts roam and graze, whenever they’re simply waiting on her, and she’s always felt it’s terribly uncomfortable to do, with a bit in their mouth (not that she’s ever seen a horse actually let a bit stop them from munching away, but _still_ ).

 _A kindly queen, even unto her creatures,_ he’d drawled once. Despite the teasing tone, she’d seen the softness around his eyes, had known that for whatever reason, he adored her ridiculous little quirk.

She’s been called many things, over the years (a good lot of them were even true). She can’t recall many people who have called her kind and truly meant it.

She pats Hound’s neck with a solid, steady beat for a few seconds. Then she makes her way into the water.

By the time she looks back, Hound has already wandered off a bit, nose to the ground as he samples various flora around the water’s edge.

Predictable in his appetites, a bit like his namesake, she thinks with a wry grin. She sinks further into the water, pushing off against the riverbed.

She’s getting better, she knows. Faster, stronger in her movements. She made a promise to herself, just after their very first swimming lesson (over a month ago, how could it be?). By summer’s end, she’d be able to take Eist on in a race.

She rarely breaks a promise.

She focuses on her kicks, startling Hound a bit with a particularly forceful splash. Then, with a slightly shaking breath, she forces herself to dive under the water.

That part is still a bit terrifying. At least when she’s swimming on the surface, her head is up, eyes open to all potential dangers. Under the water, there’s no such defense. There’s also a sudden swell of panic at the thought that somehow, she might not come back up again.

But if Eist can do it, then so can she.

That’s part of her motivation, too. The need to prove herself, both to him and to her own self. Eist’s connection to water is an intrinsic part of who he is, and she wants to show him that she understands, that she not only appreciates it, but embraces it as part of her own life, too, now.

_Your woes I take as my own, as your joys, your hatreds and your loves. Your life becomes mine, as mine doth yours, from here until the end._

Nearly three years ago now, she repeated those words, and he echoed them back to her, their hands bound by the cloak of Cintra. She’d said those words before, to Roegner—she hadn’t known the full value of them, at the time. With Eist, she knew exactly what she was promising, and she promised it wholeheartedly.

She rarely breaks a promise.

It isn’t just about promises, she knows. It’s about the things he deserves to have, simply because he is a good and worthy man.

He deserves a lover who will swim with him, who will play with him and challenge him to race down a river—and since she plans on remaining his only lover, for the rest of their lives, it’s up to her to provide that.

Not that it’s a particularly heavy mantle to bear, mind you. Not when she’s so lovingly rewarded for her efforts.

Still, it isn’t about how he’ll show his gratitude, afterwards—not truly, anyways. It’s about how he’ll feel, knowing she’s done this for him. She knows the feeling, because he’s given her so many similar gifts, so many times over. It’s a miraculous sensation, and she’s delighted at the chance to give it back to him, in return.

She swims across the river, closer to a collection of large boulders near the opposite shore.

They’ve had multiple swimming lessons together, at this point. And every single one ended up with them in a completely different physical activity, in various locations and positions along the river’s edge. But the moments where true connection was made, when something more was grown between them—those moments always happened here, on and around these stones.

She doesn’t actually approach them. Merely stares at them, from her position a little deeper in the river. It doesn’t feel right, to be too close to them, not when he’s not here with her. It’s theirs—not hers or his, but _theirs_.

She pushes off again, letting herself swim a bit further down the river—further than she’s ever gone before. It’s darker, cooler in this section, overhung with trees and shielded in shadows.

She shivers a bit, surprised at just how much colder the water is here, forever shaded from the hot summer sun.

There’s a shuffling noise from the shore, the cautious prick of hooves and a low, almost anxious nicker.

She plants her feet firmly on the riverbed, rising up to offer a quick clicking sound over her shoulder. Hound can hear her, even if he can’t see her. She hears his steps, growing quicker and surer. He bounces into sight, clipping easily along the river bank.

“We’re just fine, sweet boy,” she assures him. Horses are herd animals, they always look for a leader to show them to safety, to guide them through the scarier, more uncertain parts of the terrain. She understands this, understands that even now, in this small moment, she’s expected to be a queen, in some way.

She pushes off again, keeping her arms and legs below the surface, minimizing the amount of splashing. Then she stops and gently calls him forward again. He moves a bit slower, lifting his head and looking around at the shifting trees overhead, cautious of all the dancing shadows and unfamiliar sounds. Still, he’s less anxious. He trusts her, as always.

He’s not the only one who takes comfort in the companionship. The river seems a little less dangerous, now. They continue on for a while, her swimming along and stopping to make sure he’s still following on the bank, waiting patiently as he nibbles at a bush or a patch of weeds. Finally, she comes back to shore, realizing that they’ve traveled quite a distance from their original location.

She’s satisfied, now. She navigated the river on her own, through unknown sections that were deeper and wider than the area where they usually swim. She’s stronger, surer than when Eist last saw her swim. She'll have a few more chances to better her skills, and he will be pleasantly surprised, she knows. She wraps herself in her cloak and sits on the bank, smiling softly as Hound wanders off again, back into a section of open field, just over the ridge of the embankment.

Not for the first time tonight, she wishes Eist were here. It’s beautiful and quiet and dark, he’d look absolutely breathtaking in these shadows, skin still cool and tasting of the river.

It isn’t supposed to be like this, she thinks in soft wonderment. Kings and queens don’t marry for love, they aren’t supposed to have these kinds of poundingly passionate love affairs with their own spouses. And regardless of that, they’ve been married for nearly three years now—shouldn’t some of it have worn away, become a bit too mundane and uninspiring?

Maybe it’s because they have distance between them, every few weeks. Maybe it’s because they waited for so long, letting years’ worth of tension and desire build up between them.

Maybe it’s because they’re simply meant to be this way, always.

She closes her eyes, hopes beyond all measure that is the case.

Despite the distance, nearly every day brings a raven, and nearly every day she sends one out to him in return. She swallows thickly as she thinks of the most recent missive from her husband.

Eist’s storytelling skills have long been renowned in the court of Cintra—but oh, they don’t know the half of it. The way he can truly turn a phrase, the reactions he can incite with a few simple words. Yesterday’s letter had her retreating to her chambers immediately after reading, desperate to ease the deliciously unbearable tension radiating through her body, just so that she could think straightly again.

But more than the desire running through his words, she felt love. The absolute love he poured into detailing exactly what he wanted to do to her, as soon as they were alone together again. That’s always the most surprising bit of all.

It shouldn’t be like this, she inwardly repeats. It isn’t supposed to be like this—love, love this broken-in, love this stable and comfortable and rooted in friendship. Something this well-worn shouldn’t always feel so electrifyingly new and exciting.

Should, shouldn’t, doesn’t matter. It _does_ feel this way, and she grins, feeling like some trickster who has somehow stolen a gift of the gods. She doesn’t deserve it, but heaven knows she cherishes it beyond compare.

Her muscles are tired and her eyelids are beginning to feel heavy. It’s after midnight; her body is so well trained that regardless of what time she goes to bed, she’ll be stirring awake just before dawn. She should get home, get some rest.

She’ll be back here tomorrow, she knows. With Cirilla and Pavetta in tow. It’s been lovely, having a chance to simply spend time with her daughter and her granddaughter, in ways that they haven’t been able to before. Pavetta’s long known how to swim, thanks to her father. Now she delights in splashing along with Ciri—and Calanthe’s heart always swells with adoration, watching her two perfect, precious things, two mirrors of each other, so easy and joyful.

She had moments like that, with Pavetta. Not as many as she would have liked, but still some. Sometimes, she shares those memories with her daughter, who had been too young to remember them. It’s beautiful, being able to reconnect over these things, being able to watch them repeat in the next generation.

She thinks that Pavetta understands her better now. The little stories have helped her see that Calanthe has always loved her, always adored her beyond compare. It makes forgiveness easier to find, for all the things that came after, for all the things that Pavetta was old enough to commit to her memory.

It’s much softer, her life now. So much of that she owes to Eist. For so long, she thought that she’d never be able to be soft, in these ways. It was too dangerous, allowing herself to be that vulnerable. But he’s given her a safe place to pour that vulnerability into, and it’s somehow spilled over into other relationships in her life, steering her much like she guided Hound down the river.

With a soft sigh, she rises to her feet, moving up the bank and whistling for Hound.

He raises his head, ears swiveling in her direction. Then, he trots back to her, obedient as always. She dries herself a bit more with her cloak, then gets dressed again. She kisses Hound’s velvety nose before putting his bridle back on.

“I’ll be happy when your namesake’s returned,” she admits in a low tone, as if confessing a great secret. Then she moves to the saddle, getting a foot in the stirrup and pulling herself into place.

She’s happy _now_ , she realizes. Even when her heart aches for his return, there’s a mark of happiness to it, a deep certainty that he’ll return, soon, even if it doesn’t feel soon enough (it never does). There’s something wonderful, too, knowing that he’s aching for her, just as deeply and desperately.

That’s probably what she loves most about his letters—the screamingly-evident reassurance that this isn’t one-sided, it isn’t anything less than perfectly balanced in the levels of longing and love and lust. The certainty that, for all the ways she pines and yearns, for all the nights she tosses in bed alone, for all the times she closes her eyes and pretends that her touches are his, he is somewhere in the world, feeling and doing these same things.

She grins wickedly at the thought that by now, he’s received her latest missive as well. She’d bet every bit of gold in her country’s coffer that tonight, the King of Skellige lay in his own bed with his hand upon his cock and her name upon his lips as he imagined her, doing all the things she’d so salaciously detailed. He’s most likely sleeping soundly now, dreams of her dancing in his head.

It shouldn’t be like this, she thinks, yet again. But it is.

Oh, but it is.

She urges Hound into a gallop, heart soaring with delight.

_Oh, but it is._

**Author's Note:**

> Ok fun fact: I just went with Hound being a blue roan bc I wanted it to stay close to the realm of (my headcanon for) her usual options while still being different...and then while watching the battle scene again for reference in the next installment, I noticed the horse she's riding is either a dark grey or a blue roan. So like...called it? idek.


End file.
